


Date Night

by Green_Riot



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Jealousy, Post-Cell Games Saga, Seven Year Gap (Dragon Ball), Vegeta is Bad at Feelings (Dragon Ball)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:21:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27843664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Riot/pseuds/Green_Riot
Summary: Vegeta has been ignoring Bulma for months after the Cell Games, so she agrees to go on a blind date. She didn't expect the Saiyan prince to be jealous.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta
Comments: 34
Kudos: 213





	1. Getting Ready to Leave

Despite the vanity that made up a significant part of her identity, Bulma couldn’t bring herself to fuss over her appearance all that much at the moment. She knew how this night was going to go, and it wasn’t worth that much effort. So, whereas her makeup and hair could take up hours of her time on a normal day, tonight she was satisfied with a more natural look. She doubted that anyone would pay attention to her face anyway with the way the red sequined dress she was wearing clung to her figure like a second skin, leaving one shoulder bare and ending halfway down to her knees. 

After slipping into a pair of stylish yet comfortable pumps, she made her way downstairs to wait out the hour until she needed to leave the house. She poured herself a generous portion of cabernet sauvignon and made herself at home at the kitchen table, wishing to Kami that the entire ordeal could be over by now.

She knew exactly what the night had in store for her. He would be waiting for her at an expensive restaurant that he was so proud of himself for being able to afford a reservation at, as though that would impress the wealthiest woman on Earth. He would work so hard, too hard, to keep his eyes on her face while she was looking—and would insist she walk ahead of him at all times as if it were a grand, gentlemanly gesture. As if she wouldn’t know he was staring at her (admittedly incredible) ass. He would tell lame jokes, and she would put minimal effort into faking a laugh. As dinner wound down, she would evade questions about future plans and, the next day, she would text him an apologetic “we should be friends” and never talk to him again.

A groan escaped her as she contemplated, for the hundredth time, how soon she could escape early without offending Darlene Ritch, the board member who, upon learning that Bulma remained romantically unattached despite the birth of her son nearly a year ago, had taken it upon herself to find a match for the heiress—preferably one that elevated her own family’s status. Her scheming to unite the families had probably begun during Bulma’s pregnancy, as soon as it became clear that she would be a single mother—if her plan hadn’t been brewing in the years before that. Almost immediately upon returning from maternity leave, Bulma had begun hearing all about Darlene’s wonderful, handsome, successful nephew. 

Making excuses during the first two months after her return to work had been easy. No one doubted that being a new mom was tiring, but it was only a matter of time before Darlene began stopping by to offer unsolicited nuggets of advice that the best way to alleviate the stress of motherhood was to get back out on the dating scene. 

Bulma knew that the only way to get Darlene off her case was to bite the bullet and go out with her nephew…but this knowledge did nothing to alleviate her aggravation. The only thing that came anywhere close to matching the annoyance she felt at Darlene’s antics were those of her own mother.

It had become like clockwork. “Oh, Bulma,” she would say as her daughter fed Trunks. “It’d be such a shame if you didn’t patch things up with Vegeta.”

She would roll her eyes and answer with some variant of, “Mom, there is nothing to patch up. He’s staying for now, but I do not have any time or interest in dealing with Saiyan bullshit.”

Her mother would titter about the room, chirping various iterations of, “Such a hardworking young man.” “So handsome.” “Strong father figure.”

Despite the resolute façade she put up around her parents, the prince’s avoidance stung. He had come to her room the night after Cell’s defeat, and the desperate need that he held and kissed her with that night had given her hope that they would work to resolve their differences. She had needed him as much as he seemed to need her, but, although she had been determined to have a serious conversation with him afterwards, the stress of the day quickly caught up with her and she passed out before any discussion could occur. Unsurprisingly, he was gone by the time she woke up.

After a week of him evading her presence, she had cornered him in his bedroom and demanded answers. Was he staying or leaving? His response was that Trunks needed to be trained, and, not wanting to scare him away from being a part of their son’s life, she didn’t press for answers to any of the other questions that burned in her mind. As long he was planning to stay, the rest could be figured out later.

She tried to give him space in hopes that he would eventually come around, but she rarely saw him. He ate his meals at different times than her family and spent most of the day away from the compound, or hiding somewhere within it, for the first month, the gravity room all but forgotten. She had felt a small bit of relief when he resumed training in the GR, but he was still avoiding her. On the rare occasion that they crossed paths, he ignored her presence completely. It made her yearn for the days when they would scream at each other for no reason, back when he had first begun staying at Capsule Corp. 

A glance at the clock informed her that she still had another forty-five minutes to kill, so she poured the remainder of the bottle into her glass, wondering idly, yet again, if finding some reason to cancel at the last minute was worth enduring more needling from Darlene.

After draining the rest of her glass, she stood to retrieve another bottle. If she was going to be forced to make idle chitchat with a man who didn’t interest her in the slightest, a bit of a buzz could be helpful. As she was turning to return to her chair, the bottle nearly fell from her grasp as she started upon noticing that she was no longer alone. The Saiyan prince was frozen in the doorway as if she had been the one to catch him by surprise.

Her face flushed as his eyes scanned her body, and she braced herself for some acerbic comment about her outfit. Always full of surprises, he simply moved on to the fridge, pulling out a giant pile of leftovers that he carried to the table with ease. As he devoured his still cold meal, she took a seat on the opposite side of the table, avoiding sitting directly across from him. Already in a sour mood, she had no intention of initiating a conversation, and she nearly jumped at hearing his voice.

“Where are you going?”

Her annoyance quickly overshadowed her shock. “Why does it matter?”

He grit his teeth, still refusing to meet her eye. “It doesn’t.”

She couldn’t help the huff that escaped her. He was part of the reason that dating held little interest for her. How could anyone measure up to the impossibly beautiful Saiyan man who also happened to be the father of her child? His body put Michelangelo’s best sculptures to shame with strength that made her former lover’s seem like nothing, and even Yamcha had been impossibly strong in comparison to other human men. But Vegeta didn’t want her anymore, and she sure as hell didn’t need him—or anyone—to want her. She snorted at the thought of him actually caring about what she did in her free time.

His dark eyes shifted to her at the sound. “What?” he demanded. 

“Nothing. Just-” She stopped. The night was already bad enough; the last thing she needed was a long overdue confrontation with her former flame-haired flame. She looked at the clock again. Twenty-five minutes left before she actually needed to leave, but maybe it would be better to head out now. She pushed her chair back and retrieved her purse from the counter. Digging for a capsule car, she heard his chair scrape the floor, and, an instant later, he was in front of her.

“You reek of liquor,” he said flatly. “Should you really be driving?”

A short bark of laughter erupted from her. “I’m barely buzzed. And what the hell do you care?”

He crossed his arms tightly across his chest. “Humans are pathetically feeble, not to mention you have barely any tolerance for alcohol.”

If he hadn’t been ignoring her for months on end, his thinly veiled concern would have been touching.

“Your concern is noted, but I can look out for myself.”

He shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.

She sighed. “As nice as it is to finally have a conversation with you, your Highness, I have a date to get to.”

She had barely taken a step past him when his hand suddenly grasped her arm, not gently but not hard enough to hurt.

“What is a ‘date’?”

“Oh, um…” She chose her words carefully, trying to put it in a way that would make sense to her alien housemate. “Dating is something humans do to scope out romantic partners.”

She felt the hand around her arm twitch.

“Sometimes it leads to a permanent relationship, but sometimes it doesn’t. You go out with someone and do something fun, like eat or see a movie. Get to know each other.”

He bristled. “I’ve seen these ‘dates’ portrayed on television.”

He seemed angry for some reason, so she let the subject drop and continued to the door. Or at least she would have, if he would let go of her arm. His grip didn’t hurt, but she could tell by the way the muscles in his arms tensed that he was purposefully holding back. What the hell was his problem?

“There’s sex,” he stated, finally.

“Huh?” 

His eyes bore into the floor ahead of him. Finally, he was able to ground out, “There’s sex. After a date. That is what I’ve seen happen on television.”

Was he jealous? The hypocrisy enraged her, and she twisted her body to face him directly. “So what if it does? It’s not like I’m in a relationship.”

He said nothing, his gaze still making a hole in the tiles by his feet. 

She waited for him to say something—anything—but he didn’t. She jerked her arm, and he reluctantly released her. She used her newly freed hand to jab a finger into his chest.

“What, or whom, I do is not your business, Vegeta.” Her words were laced with venom, and, even though she was hoping to let her date down as gently as possible, she suddenly felt as though she should sleep with a hundred men just to spite him.

“Tch.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but he refused to look at her. As she turned to leave, he spoke, too quietly for her to make out the words.

“What the hell are you grumbling about?” she snapped. “Since when is what I do any of your concern?”

It was just her luck that she would have to put up with his cryptic bullshit on a night she was already dreading. She was ready to storm out but froze when he turned to her wearing an expression somewhere between panic and fury that bolted her to the spot.

“Go on your date,” he spat. “Fuck whatever weakling you want.”

“Fine!” she screamed back, unable to suppress her anger. “I will! Glad we cleared that up.” 

She should have let the conversation end there, but she was always bad at knowing when to hold her tongue. “Oh, and since we apparently have to give each other permission now, you can also fuck whoever you want, or, better yet, you can go fuck yourself!”

He took a step toward her, snarling, “As if I’d ever want to fuck anyone else!”

“Well-” The weight of his words struck her suddenly, and she deflated. “Wait. Why not?”

The implication of what he said seemed to dawn on him, and his face flushed crimson. His eyes darted toward the door, but she positioned herself between him and his escape route with a speed neither of them would have previously assumed was possible for a human.

“Don’t even think about, mister,” she warned.

He growled, but didn’t move, even though he could easily get past her and be out of the building faster than she could blink. She waited for him to say something, but, as usual, nothing could ever be simple or straightforward with the Saiyan prince. With an exasperated sigh, she checked the clock again. She would need to leave in the next fifteen minutes if she wanted to be on time. 

“Look,” she started quietly, “I don’t even want to go. I don’t know the guy, and I’ve been stewing all week about how to get through the night without being a total bitch.”

“You’ve never worried about being a bitch before.”

The fury that had just dissipated returned full force. A sharp retort was at the tip of her tongue when the last thing she expected happened.

_He kissed her._

The surprise paralyzed her brain, but her body responded instantly. Her arms instinctively wrapped around his neck as she melted against the hard body that she had been trying for months to forget felt so good against hers. She was oblivious to the fact that she was being lifted until she felt the cool counter on the back of her thighs. The sensation snapped her mind back into focus, and the anger returned as she wrenched her mouth away from his. She pushed his shoulders with as much force as she could muster, not that she could ever dream of moving him unless he allowed it.

“No! You don’t get to ignore me for months on end and then get all possessive out of nowhere.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he said nothing.

She grit her teeth, struggling to ignore the impulse to jump into his arms and take whatever scraps of affection he was willing to give her, but if she gave in every time he had the whim to bed her, it would hurt worse and worse each time he turned away from her afterward. She could feel her eyes prickling with tears, but she would be damned before she let him see her cry. His pride was insufferable at times, but she had pride, too, and Bulma Briefs would not let him think her weak.

“I want you to stay here,” she said when she felt that she could keep her voice even. “For Trunks. And I’m not going to try to make you want me.”

She gasped as the counter cracked under his fingers. “I do want you.” His voice was angry but quiet. The fire in his eyes would have scared her if she was capable of being cowed by any being—warrior prince or not.

She scoffed and crossed her arms. “You sure as hell had me fooled. If you really wanted me, you could have had me.”

He stepped away suddenly, and she hated the fact that she instantly missed the warmth of his body. His agitated gaze left hers before he replied, in a voice so low that she had to strain to make out his words, “Wanting and deserving are two different matters.”

She inhaled sharply.

“Is that what this is about?” she asked quietly.

He didn’t answer.

“I don’t know what kind of bullshit you’ve been telling yourself all this time, but I’m the one who gets to decide who deserves to be with me.”

She hopped down from the counter and approached him, cupping his cheek in her palm. He leaned into her touch but still wouldn’t meet her eye.

“Please look at me.”

He reluctantly complied, and she pressed a soft kiss on his lips. He didn’t push her away, but his arms remained tightly crossed until he lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Vegeta…”

“I couldn’t protect our son,” he finally said.

“They told me how you attacked Cell after-”

He pulled away from her roughly. “And he defeated me with ease. I couldn’t save Trunks’ life, and I couldn’t avenge him. Kakarot’s brat had to step in to save me, like some pathetic whelp.”

“Do you really think I would hold that against you? You weren’t strong enough this time, but you’ll train and be better next time. Gohan wouldn’t have won without your help, so there’s no reason to punish yourself.”

“It’s not just that.” She waited, and he sighed. “You know the kind of man I am, how many people—planets—I’ve destroyed.”

She placed a gentle hand on his bicep, which caused him to flinch, but she didn’t back down. “You didn’t have a choice.”

He snorted. “I may not have had free will, but destruction was something I enjoyed.”

“You’re different now,” she pressed, but he shook his head and returned his gaze to hers.

“The fact that I’m no longer purging planets doesn’t make me a saint.”

“I didn’t say you were a saint.” She paused, eyes searching his face. “You’ve done terrible things, but you can be better.”

The prince was apparently unconvinced, his frown deepening as he seemed to mull over her words. Her eyebrows pulled together as she caught a glimpse of the clock over his shoulder. There was no way for her to make it to the restaurant in time. When her eyes drifted back to his face, he was staring at her. He seemed as if he was waiting for something.

With a sigh, she made her way back over to her purse and pulled out her phone, prepared to rip off the bandaid. While considering how to phrase the message, she glanced back at Vegeta and found him scowling at her, which made her roll her eyes. After a moment of thought, she decided that the best tactic was being brief and honest.

_“Hi, this is Bulma. I’m so sorry to cancel at the last minute, but I had something come up so I won’t be able to make it tonight.”_

She pressed send and began a second message to avoid him asking to reschedule.

_“In all honesty, I don’t think that I’m really ready to date again. You seem nice, but I think it would be best if we called the whole thing off.”_

After hitting send a second time, she turned back to the grumpy Saiyan . “I was running late anyway, so I just cancelled,” she informed him with a shrug as she started toward her room, glad that she could spend the rest of the evening curled up with a book instead of putting on airs for someone she had no intention of forging any kind of meaningful bond with.

As she was crossing the threshold, she was surprised to hear him speak to her again. “You should go on a date.”

She turned to regard him with narrowed eyes. “What do you mean?”

With pink-tipped ears and eyes trained on the floor, he clarified, “With me.”

Her heart skipped, and she couldn’t contain the smile taking over her face. A small part of her reminded her not to get her hopes up, but she brushed it aside. Even if they weren’t able to completely return to the companionship they had before Trunks, being sort-of friends again was a good enough place to start. 

“Let’s do it.”


	2. The Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta takes Bulma on a date to a place that is important to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left kind words and kudos on the first chapter! Sorry that it's taken me a bit to get an update posted; I think the final chapter will take much less time to finish (and I have another non-Vegebul fic in the works, as well!).
> 
> -GR

He remained silent for a moment as he regarded her with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher. After a moment, he nodded once and silently walked past her. She watched him leave, mind whirring at the fact that Vegeta, the single grumpiest, most antisocial creature she had ever encountered, wanted to go on a date with her—and had made the suggestion himself. 

Several feet away from her, he paused suddenly and looked back at her. 

“Well?” he prompted with a raised brow. “Are you coming or not?”

“Wait, you want to go right now?”

He huffed and turned to fully face her, his arms once again crossed in front of his bare chest. “I assume that the boy is in the care of your parents for the evening.”

“Well, yes but-”

The corners of his mouth rose in a smirk. “Do you have other plans? Or have you already changed your mind?”

“No,” she snapped, ire rising at his attitude. “Do _you_ have a plan for where we’re going? Also, no offense, but you’re not exactly dressed for the occasion.”

He frowned as he examined his training attire, unsure of what clothing had to do with anything but taking note of the woman’s semiformal dress. _“Tch.”_ He turned on his heel and strode up the stairs, much to her dismay. 

She cursed herself for being stupid enough to get her hopes up as she kicked off one heel at a time. Shoes in hand, she stomped her way back to her bedroom. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ Just as her hand found the zipper of her dress, she was startled by a pounding on her bedroom door.

Her jaw dropped as soon as the door swung open. Vegeta stood before her, looking somewhat out of place in the hallway wearing khakis and a blue button-up shirt. She was shocked at how _human_ he looked. He regarded her with an expression that fell somewhere between boredom and impatience that she tried not to let bother her. 

“So, where should we go?” she asked as she stepped back into her shoes.

“You said the options are to eat or see a movie, and I would much prefer food than to sit through any of the drivel that counts as entertainment on this backwater planet.”

She rolled her eyes but chose not to comment on the fact that he had just eaten enough leftovers to fill the bellies of an entire human family. “We’ll get food then, but those aren’t the only two options.”

“Well then, what else is there?”

She tapped her chin in thought. “I suppose anything could technically count as a ‘date.’ The activity itself isn’t that important; all that matters is that you spend some time together and have fun. Getting a meal is a really common date because everyone loves food, even if it’s not very creative.”

“Creative?” he echoed as she stepped into the hallway.

“Yeah. I guess if I were trying to get to know someone, I’d prefer to go on an adventure or to see something interesting.” She could feel her cheeks flush as she added, “I never dated anyone other than Yamcha, and all he ever wanted to do was eat or watch sports…We never went anywhere…special.”

She was a bit ashamed of her admission, but he didn’t respond. When she glanced at him, he appeared lost in thought. 

As they reached the foot of the staircase, he grunted, “Very well.”

She shrugged, unsure of what he meant.

They stepped out of the dome-shaped building, and she dug into her purse for a capsule. His calloused fingers gently took hold of her wrist before she could find the one she was looking for. “It will be much faster if I fly us.”

It was just as well to her; she didn’t have the faintest idea of where they were off to, so she didn’t object when he picked her up as though she weighed nothing. When her arms were secure around his neck, he leapt off the ground, and then they were hurtling off to kami-knew-where. 

She enjoyed the feeling of being wrapped around Vegeta’s body more than she wanted to admit to herself, and she spent of most of the journey with her eyes tightly closed reminding herself that she needed to keep her guard up. The stress of the impending android apocalypse and his frustration with trailing behind Goku had cause tiny fissures to appear in the prince’s walls—walls constructed out of the necessity of a harsh, violent childhood. Little by little, he had begun to reveal a side of himself that she was positive no one else had been privy to, and, although Bulma almost always wore her heart _loudly_ on her sleeve, she was shocked to realize that, when they were alone, she was also revealing bits and pieces of herself that she didn’t realize she had been hiding in the first place. She had been furious at the way he balked at the news of her pregnancy, but, after having time to reflect, she could now see that his haughty dismissal of her and their son had been masking fear. 

Despite his gruff, haughty exterior, Vegeta ran from the things he was truly afraid of. Their relationship was a dance of sorts; they came together almost subconsciously, and then, when he sensed that he was becoming less than invulnerable, he retreated. The cycle had repeated in shorter cycles in the three years before the androids’ arrival, and she had learned to be patient. Her scientific brain had deduced through trial and error that he would pull away if she pushed too hard, so she had adapted. She memorized the dance’s steps and tried to let him lead, but, at the end of the day, Bulma Briefs was a terrible follower.

What had started as a fun diversion, a new mystery to be solved, had gradually morphed into something deeper, and it became harder and harder to keep her distance when he pulled away from her. She knew that he had issues to sort out, but it wasn’t fair for her to be constantly suspended in air waiting for him to make up his mind and close the distance that remained between them. When he kept his distance after the Cell Games, she made a decision: The next time he wandered back to her, she would not move forward to meet him halfway. 

Their son’s existence had removed any possibility that they could go their separate ways without a backward glance, but that shared responsibility did not tether the parents to one another. Bulma Briefs would chase after no one, and she didn’t need a romantic partner to live a fulfilling life.

That being said, she hated herself for the way her lips tingled at recalling his kiss in the kitchen. She despised the warmth that flooded her body as she rested her nose against his neck and inhaled his scent. She hated the fact that she wanted him. 

Her eyes fluttered open as they touched down on the side of a mountain. As she studied the rocky landscape ahead, her brow furrowed in confusion. 

“I come here often,” Vegeta offered with a shrug. 

His eyes were fixed somewhere behind her, and her breath caught when she turned to see what he was looking at. A vast, turquoise ocean stretched far beyond the horizon, the pinks and oranges of the setting sun scattered among the shimmering waves. Peering over the edge of the cliff on which they stood, she could see a beach of black sand. Bulma had seen her fair share of scenic wonders, but it was unquestionably the most stunning view she had ever seen. 

When she cast a look back at him over her shoulder, his eyes darted away from her.

“It’s beautiful.”

He grunted noncommittally while moving to sit cross-legged at the edge of the cliff. She followed slowly, warily eyeing the immense distance she would drop if she tripped.

Sensing her hesitancy, he snorted. “I could catch you before you even noticed you were falling, Woman.”

“‘Could’ is not synonymous with ‘would,’” she muttered as sat down several feet away from the ledge. While she dragged her body as close to the edge as she dared, she could see his shoulders tense at the edge of her vision.

She took a deep breath as she inched forward on her bottom. Soon enough, her feet were dangling from the edge, and she tried her hardest to appear unfazed by the danger. When she glanced his way, she was taken aback by how irritated he looked. 

“Is everything alright?” she asked cautiously.

He closed his eyes tightly and seemed to struggle to choose his words. “I was angry,” he finally bit out.

Her brow furrowed in confusion, but she waited for him to continue.

“You put your life, and your child’s life, in danger by flying into the one place you had no business being in that day. I was so blinded by petty rage that you could have…”

It suddenly clicked. “You…think I’m mad about that?”

He didn’t answer.

“Vegeta, I was mad at the time – I mean, it would have been _nice_ if you had come to our rescue, but there were half a dozen people there that day that could have caught Trunks and I after the explosion.” She chuckled. “And, even then, no one bothered to catch poor Yajirobe.”

His expression relaxed slightly, but his hands were still clenched tightly enough to turn his knuckles white. “ _He_ was furious at me for months, in the chamber. His anger made me defensive. I regret many things I said to him.”

“Oh.” She could read between the lines well enough to understand that – coming from Vegeta – this was an apology. The months of avoidance, his outburst earlier that night in the kitchen. He wasn’t avoiding her because of indifference; he was punishing himself.

She hesitated for a moment, still uncertain of whether it was a good idea, before reaching for his hand. His fingers unfurled instantly, and she took the opportunity to lace her fingers through his. 

“What you did was crappy, but I can understand in a way and, I’ll admit, it probably wasn’t my brightest idea to come out there. _But_ it did work out in the end, since you guys would have never found Gero’s lab if I hadn’t shown up and recognized him.”

The pad of his thumb lightly traced her knuckles. “You asked, several days after Cell’s defeat, whether I was staying on Earth.”

Her heart dropped. Had he changed his mind? Was he leaving after all?

“I have nothing, nowhere to go.”

“Do you want to leave?”

He turned his head to meet her eye. “No.”

She waited with bated breath until he looked away and continued. “I have no idea where I would go if I left, but it’s more than that. I don’t _want_ to leave.”

“You said that you need to train Trunks.”

“I do, but I want…”

“Me?” she asked quietly.

He sighed and closed his eyes. She felt her ire rising; she was breaking every vow she had made to herself to keep her distance, and he couldn’t even give her a straight answer. She pulled her hand back, but he didn’t let go.

As if he could sense her disappointment, he spoke slowly. “I’m not good at this. I don’t know to express…the things I wish to say.”

Her temper cooled immediately. He was trying after all.

“We spent a year in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber together. We didn’t speak for the first month or so, until I demanded a spar so that I could train against an actual opponent. The fight was…heated. We’re lucky neither of us was killed, and he snapped. He told me about the future version of you.”

When she didn’t respond, he pressed on. “You didn’t feed him any lies about the type of man I am; he came here fully aware that I’m an asshole. And yet, he still managed to be disappointed.”

“You have another chance,” she offered. “Things can be different this time.”

He hummed. “I’m trying, but what bothers me most is what he said about you…She never moved on.”

“And that…upset you?”

He nodded once. “I don’t like the idea of you pining for anyone who treated you as poorly as I have, in both timelines. But I also don’t like being ignored. It’s confusing.”

“Ignored?”

She caught a glimpse of panic in his eyes before he quickly turned his face away from her, but he wouldn’t evade the question that easily. “You think I’ve been ignoring _you?_ I haven’t seen you at a meal in months, and you’ve conveniently stopped breaking the gravity room every other day.”

“I…” He trailed off, selecting his words with care. “I thought that you would seek me out again. When you didn’t, I assumed that you were bothered by my decision to remain. So I tried to stay out of your way.”

A wave of guilt gripped her as she studied the pained expression he was attempting, with little success, to hide behind a neutral façade. 

With obvious effort, he continued. “I knew I should simply leave, but I’m selfish…The future Trunks was strong and had excellent character—without my presence in his upbringing. But there are so few Saiyans left…I want him to know something about our people.”

“Well, we might both be idiots after all,” she said while tracing a faded scar on the back of his hand. “I was afraid that if I tried to talk to you, you’d take off for good and Trunks would never see you again. We need you, Vegeta. I know you aren’t sure of how to be a father. Hell, most of the time I have no clue what I’m doing. But we can do this.” 

She punctuated her speech with a squeeze of his hand, and, before she could process what was happening, she was on his lap. His mouth claimed hers as one hand tangled in her hair, the other wrapped tightly around her waist. 

A cool breeze hit her back, and she suddenly remembered how far above the ground they were. She peeked over her shoulder and, realizing that most of her body was suspended in the air by just his thighs, she squeaked and clung tighter to his neck. She felt him smirk against her shoulder. “I might let you fall just to spite you for having such little faith in my abilities.”

A laugh bubbled up in her chest. “Nah,” she countered with a wink. “You just admitted that you like me.”

He rolled his eyes but was still grinning. “Be careful, Woman. You tempt me to toss you and be done with it.”

“Do it then.” Her blue eyes sparkled with the challenge, but they widened in fear as she found herself flying through the air. Her screech pierced the night as she plummeted toward the water. She clenched her eyes shut and braced for impact, but it never came.

She tentatively opened an eye and found herself dangling over Vegeta’s shoulder. The waves lapped at the soles of his shoes as he chuckled. 

“What’s wrong? You told me to do it. I suppose you didn’t ask to be caught, but what can I say? I’m feeling generous tonight.”

She sputtered and kicked while her fists bounced uselessly off his back. He deftly maneuvered her until he was holding her bridal style and glided toward the shoreline. When he placed her on the ground, she stumbled. One of her shoes had been lost somewhere during her brief flight. As she opened her mouth to unleash a string of profanities at him, he held up the missing shoe in one hand, and she bit her lip to hide her growing smile. 

“You’re an asshole.”

“You already knew that,” he replied as he settled into the sand. 

She joined him on the ground with a half-hearted grumble, but it was hard to stay upset with the gorgeous display above. The sun had disappeared, revealing far more stars than were ever visible from the city. 

“That reminds me,” she mused as she leaned back on her elbows. “Why did you bring me here?”

“You implied that you wished to go somewhere that held significance for one or both of us,” he stated simply.

“And?”

He held up a hand and let the dark sand trickle through his fingers for a moment before he responded. “Most of the sand on this planet is brown. The sands of Vegetasei were black. I sometimes come here when I need to sort out my thoughts.”

She scooted closer to him so that she could rest her head on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

“The surrounding terrain is difficult to navigate if you can’t fly, so it’s private and quiet. I…like it.”

She began to feel tired, but she wasn’t ready for the night to be over. Digging through her capsules, she squinted to make out the words on the labels. A ball of light appeared on his upturned hand, allowing her to locate the one she was looking for. She tossed the capsule, and a puff of smoke appeared, eventually dissipating to reveal a large bag from which she pulled a blanket.

With the blanket spread on the ground, she settled onto her back. To her surprise, he joined her. After several minutes of comfortable silence, she rolled towards him and ventured a question. 

“What’s your favorite color?”

He grunted. “Why?”

“We’re on a date,” she huffed. “You’re supposed to get to know each other. I was just making conversation.”

“We’ve known each other for years. What more is there to know?”

“Well…” 

Truthfully, she didn’t feel like she knew him well at all. She knew his mannerisms and could gather as much information from his silences as his words. She knew his work ethic, how he drank his coffee black, and his favorite places to be touched. She knew the gist of his past and understood why he preferred not to talk about it much. But there were so many small details missing, and the more she learned of him, the more she wanted to know.

He rolled onto his side to face her, his dark eyes revealing everything and nothing all at once. They drifted back into their companionable silence, and it became harder and harder for her eyes to stay open.

She felt him take a lock of her hair in between his fingers gently as he offered a single word: “Blue.”

“Hm?” She opened her eyes and caught his gaze transfixed on the hair he was twirling idly.

“My favorite color is blue.”

He caressed her cheek with a gentleness that made her shiver and caught her lips in a tender but passionate kiss. Every other question she wanted to ask was forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry (but not sorry) to be a tease! The final chapter will be almost 100% smut, and I will update the rating to 'Explicit' to reflect the content. If smut isn't your cup of tea, you can consider Chapter 2 to be the end of the story, and I thank you again for reading. :)


	3. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! Sorry for the delay in finishing this fic. I lost my dad to Covid on Christmas Eve, which has made it hard to write and, well, do anything.
> 
> The comments on Chapter 1 were sooo encouraging. I mentioned that this is my first attempt at fanfiction, and the support you all offered via comments and kudos has encouraged me to continue. I've been in a really bad place, like everyone else, since last March, and participating in the Vegebul community as a reader, and now writer, is a small pleasure that has kept me going through it all.

No matter what she told herself about not chasing after Vegeta, Bulma had always known that her resolve would crumble if this happened. What did surprise her was how languidly their mouths and hands moved, each surprisingly in no hurry to quench the thirst that had been bottled up for so many long months. She had assumed that any reconciliation would be a fiery explosion of tempers akin to their first encounter, as much a fight as a display of affection and caring.

His hand traced the smooth skin of her exposed arm from shoulder to elbow and back again. He could crush granite with barely any effort, and yet he handled her so gently. 

Her fingers toyed with the short hairs at the nape of his neck, surprisingly soft despite its resistance to gravity. Any other time, she might have yanked the hair with a force that would bring a human to their knees, reveling in how no amount of roughness on her part could hurt him, but, for now, they took their time.

She felt his hand move to the swell of her hip, his touch still feather light, and then to her lower back. He pulled their bodies closer together, causing her to release a sigh of contentment. His lips parted from her mouth and peppered soft kisses along her jawline before moving down to stroke her neck. The hand previously tangled in his hair slid down to his chest, feeling the contours of his defined muscles. 

It was a sharp departure from the usual frantic pace they normally enjoyed, but Bulma felt her body responding nevertheless – and the press of their bodies made it obvious that hers wasn’t the only body reacting. His arms tightened infinitesimally around her as she pulled away enough for her hand to trail a path down his torso and over the bulge in his pants.

He inhaled sharply as his hips reflexively thrust into her hand, and his hand tangled in the fabric of her skirt. As she ground her palm into his growing erection, his fingers slipped under her dress, exposing the skin of her thighs as he made his way to cup her rear. With minimal coaxing, she placed her leg on top of his, deepening their embrace and allowing his digits to graze the dampening fabric between her legs. Their kiss deepened, and he swallowed the moan that his touch drew from her before carefully pushing her shoulders so that she was lying on her back. 

He pulled away from her momentarily, his dark eyes scanning over her body as if he were forming a battle strategy, before he settled against her once more. His weight braced on one arm, the other hooked her thigh and brought it around his waist. She lifted her hips to grind their centers together, each upward movement more frantic than the last, and, despite the unspoken resolve to take their time, their movements became increasingly desperate.

Her fingers fumbled with the waistband of his pants. He immediately pulled away to unfasten them, gasping as her hand slid down the front of his underwear to grasp him. The hand not supporting his body weight travelled under her dress again, pushing the fabric as high as their position would allow. 

A sound of tearing fabric reached her ears, followed by the heat of his hand against her bare flesh. The movement of her hand stalled as his fingers brushed again her wet aching core. 

She whined as, all too soon, he moved his hand further up the front of her body, pausing to massage a breast before gripping the neckline of her dress. “Don’t you dare,” she growled. “I paid good money for this, and you are _not_ going to tear it the first time I wear it.”

He pulled away from her with an annoyed grunt, allowing her to sit up and reach for the zipper. She struggled momentarily before feeling his hand tugging at the bothersome closure himself. His attitude seemed to improve as the fabric cascaded away from her shoulders, exposing the lacy black bra she donned below. She had barely enough time to register the mischief in his eyes before he ripped the garment away from her body, leaving her chest exposed to the night air.

“You bastard!” she cried. “That was expensive, too!”

“Well,” he chuckled. “You didn’t say that I wasn’t allowed to rip _that._.”

Infuriating as the loss of her costly undergarments was, his relaxed, playful demeanor left her unable to summon any true anger. So she decided to cover the annoying smirk on his face with a kiss that he instantly (and enthusiastically) reciprocated. Soon his hands were on her again, smoothing over every inch of previously concealed skin. She couldn’t recall precisely when he had managed to unbutton and discard his shirt, but feeling the involuntary twitch of his muscles as her fingers danced across his bare chest and abdomen left her with no desire to question the garment’s disappearance.

As leisurely as the place had been in the beginning, months and months of each waiting for the other to initiate contact soon left both unable to wait any longer. His dark eyes bored into hers as he slowly sank into her, then drifted closed once he was fully buried in her. She ran her fingertips up his arms and felt them tense as he struggled to find the patience to let her body adjust to his size.

He held himself still until she began rolling her hips encouragingly. As he increased the pace of his thrusts, he leaned forward to gently pull a nipple into his mouth. She moaned as his tongue swirled leisurely circles around her tip, her hands greedily exploring every patch of skin they could reach.

Popping off her breast, his mouth found hers again, and her tongue snaked out to trace his lower lip. He answered in kind, slipping his tongue into her mouth and groaning as she lightly sucked on it. One of his hands, wrapped around her thigh, gripped a little bit too hard, just on the verge of painful. It was likely that she would have a bruise tomorrow, and she would wear it with pride, happy to know that she could cause his unfailing self-control to slip just the tiniest bit.

She bit her lip as she felt the familiar, sweet tension building in her core. To make matters worse (or, perhaps more accurately, better), his hand came between them to rub firm circles around her clit. The incoherent sounds spilling from her mouth trailed off as her orgasm came crashing over her like a tidal wave. The feeling of her spasming around him pushed him over the edge as well. He groaned as he found his release before collapsing onto her, his face buried in the crook of her neck as his breathing slowed.

Her fingertips lazily traced the planes of his back, but her euphoria dwindled as the fears that had consumed her before returned to the forefront of her mind. What if he pushed her away again? The edges of her vision blurred as tears formed. She wasn’t sure that she could bear the weight of disappointment this time around.

He pulled back to look at her, and she hid her face to the side, willing her traitor eyes to keep from crying. Despite her best efforts, she could feel the tears beginning to flow. The shame of displaying weakness in front of him made matters worse.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as he wiped a tear from her cheek. 

His voice was softer than she had expected, and she chanced a look at his face. The disdain she had expected was absent from his features, a puzzled and slightly worried expression in its stead.

She moved to sit up, and he removed his body from hers enough to give her the space to do so as she wiped at her eyes. She nearly jumped in surprise at hearing his gruff voice speak again.

“So you regret it then?”

“No,” she said quietly. “Well, yes. Kind of. I mean, I guess I’m just…still not sure where we stand.”

“I thought-” He stopped suddenly, prompting her to look up at him again. She was shocked to see that he seemed almost _disappointed._

She took a deep breath, summoning her courage. How could a _conversation_ scare someone who had traipsed into as many dangerous situations during their teenage years as she had? It was now or never; she needed to know, one way or the other.

“Vegeta…I want-” His eyes were back on her, briefly causing her to question herself, but she pushed past it. “I want a commitment.”

“And?”

She had been steeling herself for a ‘no,’ but this response left her flabbergasted. Frustration bubbled in her throat. “What do you mean, _‘and?!'_ ” 

To her further surprise, he dismissed her outburst with a laugh. “I suppose I wasn’t clear.”

He stood up and offered her his hand, which she tentatively accepted. Once they were both on their feet, his arms wrapped around her waist.

“You’re stupid,” he stated drily. “Obviously things are about to change.” 

He continued with a smirk, “First of all, you’re moving into _my_ room, and you’ll bring only the necessities. If we’re going to share a space, you’re going to need to clean up after yourself.”

She pulled back indignantly. “Excuse me? You can bring your crap into _my_ room. You have nothing but a handful of clothes to move. It would take days to get my stuff moved over.”

“Forget it. There’s no way the Prince of Saiyans is going to take up a permanent residence in a room with _pink_ walls.”

“Fine.” She pulled away from him, crossing her arms. Her brows pinched together in thought. “How about this: I’ll clean up, have the walls painted some boring, neutral color that doesn’t threaten your fragile male ego, and then you can bring your clothes over?”

He seemed to consider this. “Deal.”

A short while later, Bulma was wrapped in the prince’s arms again, her face pressed into the crook of his neck to shield her eyes from the wind. She quietly made her way to the room down the hall where Trunks was sleeping peacefully after they touched down on her balcony. She spent several moments listening to the soothing sound of his gentle snoring before exiting without a sound.

When she made it back to her bedroom, she was unsurprised but nevertheless pleased to find Vegeta reclining on her bed with his hands folded behind his head. The sour expression with which he regarded the piles of clothes and general clutter scattered about the room offended her far less than she would have expected, and he even refrained from commenting as the dress she had spent the evening in was flung carelessly over a chair.

She crawled under the covers, nestling into his side and relishing the warmth of having another body in her bed – something she had forbidden herself from dwelling on.

“Are you tired?” she asked. He had always been the early bird of the two of them, but she found herself yawning nonetheless.

He responded simply, “No.”

In a blur, her body was lifted until she was straddling him, and she grinned. There was a lot of wasted time to make up for.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is my first foray into fanfiction writing, and I'm considering continuing this story (with eventual smut 😊), if anyone is actually interested in reading a continuation.


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